


The Six Swans

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - The Six Swans, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Tony Stark, Cap-IronMan Remix Madness, Getting Together, Howling Commandoes, Intrigue, Knight Steve Rogers, M/M, Prince Tony Stark, Remix, Top Steve Rogers, curse, elopement, vow of silence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Steve is a knight whose brothers-in-arms have been turned into swans by the fae in retaliation of a perceived slight. In order to undo the curse, Steve must take a vow of silence for six years; during which time, he must sew six shirts made of stinging nettles for his enchanted men to wear. Should he fail to do either, he will permanently turn into a swan himself. Steve agrees to the terms, locking himself away in a shack in the forest to complete his task.Over five years into his self-imposed solitude, Steve saves the prince of their lands from bandits who descend on the royal carriage on its way the summer palace and is invited to join his retinue of body guards. He doesn’t anticipate falling in love with the prince, nor that the prince would return his affections. But their happiness is short-lived when Steve is accused of high treason, and he cannot say a word in his own defense.Remix of “Art for The Prince Who Dreamed of Swans” by haemodye for the 2021 Cap-IronMan Remix Madness. Based on the Brothers Grimm fairy tale “The Six Swans.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28
Collections: 2021 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Madness





	The Six Swans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haemodye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemodye/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art for "The Prince Who Dreamed of Swans"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047418) by [haemodye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemodye/pseuds/haemodye). 
  * In response to a prompt by [haemodye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemodye/pseuds/haemodye) in the [2021_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2021_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness) collection. 



> In late Medieval times, most knights were literate (because they came from the upper classes and were the younger sons of noblemen), but there were a few from the lower classes who rose up with exemplary service. In this story, Steve is one of the latter, but he is friends with Bucky, who is the younger son of a nobleman and has helped Steve buy some of his armor and other items he would need to fight. Besides a sword, knights also used maces and pollaxes to get past plate armor and chainmail.
> 
> Many knights fought in a retinue (unit). A banneret (elevated knight with more money and status) might lead around 40 men while a normal knight had around 10 men that had around a 3:1 ratio of archers: men-at-arms/knights. Archers were from the lower classes. They shot arrows, but they also fought in close-combat with other weapons as well. Bucky is the leader of Steve’s retinue; Steve is a man-at-arms, and the other five Howling Commandoes are archers.
> 
> I’m no expert. I’ve read a little bit about the times, so there’s bound to be a lot of inaccuracies, but this is fanfiction based on a fairy tale, not a dissertation on what life was actually like back then. Also, in this story, magic is real, and homophobia isn’t, so… ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Steve Rogers’s brothers-in-arms offend the fae and are turned into swans. Steve strikes a bargain to lift the curse at his own peril.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cold iron is considered harmful to faeries or somehow inert to magic, and they do NOT take kindly to people carrying it. Medieval maces were sometimes made of iron.

“What of this one?” Bucky asks, scratching rolling hills side-by-side with a stick in the dirt.

“M,” Steve replies easily.

“And if you are to flip it on its head?”

He tilts his gaze to regard the figure, trying to imagine the alternate orientation. “W.”

“Very good, Steve. You’re picking it up right quick, you are,” Bucky praises him. “We will have you reading in no time.”

“I do not understand the point of this exercise,” Dum Dum complains from his seat across the fire. He rests his chin upon his palm, his fingers tapping at his lips before stroking down his bushy mustache. “You already have letters enough to sign your name. A man needs no more than that.”

Bucky draws a single hill Steve recognizes as an N beside the M. “A man may seek enlightenment in learning his letters. There is no shame in it.”

“Men such as Steve and I should learn the finer points of combat and seek to improve our swordplay. What good are letters in the heat of battle. They do not cut nor wound–”

“Not in the traditional sense, no, but there is more to life than the pollaxe and mace,” Bucky insists. As the younger son of a nobleman, he is always one fall of the horse, one rusty nail away from becoming the heir and so was required to learn his letters from a young age. By contrast, his men drew from the lower classes where such pursuits were more recreation than necessity, and a poor choice at that.

“Steve has no need of letters, not when what we do requires not the review of land deeds and contracts but of skill and physical prowess and more than a little luck,” Dum Dum says. He stands with some difficulty – the result of age and heft – and traverses the short distance to the duo. “Speaking of… come away, Steve. Wouldst you rather we join the others in a game of dice? Gabriel is on a hot streak, but it will certainly chill with the addition of a jinx such as yourself.”

Steve frowns. “You surely know how to make a man feel wanted.”

But Dum Dum shakes his head. “Nonsense. You are much wanted, especially when it is young Gabriel’s turn at the dice and the banker position falls to me. In such a case, I promise to split the proceeds betwixt you and I.” He grasps Steve’s shoulder, giving him a hearty pat. “Oh cheer up, old chum. Your luck is only shoring up for a big pay-day – I just know it – but in the meantime…”

The others groan when Dum Dum approaches with Steve in tow, his long-standing reputation having preceded him, having lost the thrower and his ilk more shillings than they cared to admit in their time together.

“Pack it up, men,” James is telling the others. “Unless we can convince Stevie to play the banker, he will surely bankrupt us all save one in three throws.”

“Too scared are you?” Dum Dum challenges him. “Lady Luck favors young Gabriel of late, and I would like to pit her goodwill for the man against her ire for Steve.”

Steve’s brow twitches in annoyance. Why does he let Dum Dum talk him into these things? This is precisely why he abstained from games of chance and luck ever since the first half-dozen times he had cost himself and his compatriots an entire week’s wages on dice.

“You will not be banker. It is Jim’s turn fair and square,” James states flatly, having sussed out the larger man’s game.

“…Perhaps some archery practice is in order,” Dum Dum pivots instead. “Percival could use the practice. He near missed half his shots during the last skirmish at the behest of Lord Phillips.”

Percival rounds on the man, punching him in the arm. “A pox on you and your house! I am the best shot here, you ass!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it with mine own two eyes.”

“You’re about to lose one of the pair!” he shouts, his fingers already going for the eye gouge that Dum Dum deftly blocks. There’s a scuffle where Dum Dum takes Percival down, who sweeps out his legs then tries to kick him in the throat. Dum Dum pounces on his opponent as they roll towards the fire, knocking down and scattering the kindling as Bucky stands then advances, pulling the two apart with the help of the other four.

“Damn you both, you’ve put out our fire!” Bucky tells them.

“It was Dum Dum what started it,” Percival accuses.

Dum Dum’s spine straightens taut. “You threw the first punch.”

Steve doesn’t want the second disagreement to come to blows so he volunteers, “I’ll collect more wood for the fire if you find the flint to light it, yeah?” He doesn’t even wait for them to confirm the plan before he sets out down a well-trodden path into the forest.

He supposes it’s the lack of a fight putting the men on edge and causing arguments to erupt among them more often of late. It had been a couple fortnights since their last contract when they had fought under Lord Fury’s banner to keep his liege lord’s enemies at bay. Steve hadn’t been familiar with the particulars, but then again, it hadn’t been his job to know, only to fight for his shilling a day plus a share of whatever regard Bucky had managed to secure for them for their service. It is a hard, dangerous life, but it is a good living, better than he could have made had he stayed a tenant on the Barnes family land, and he got to remain in the employ of his closest childhood friend, protecting his lord by serving alongside him. It was what Lord Barnes had asked of him when he left, though the order hadn’t been a necessity. Steve had always held a special regard for Bucky and would have followed him to the ends of the known world regardless of any vow.

When he believes he has collected enough dry wood, Steve traces his footsteps back to their campsite, but upon entering the clearing, he finds nothing but their bundled belongings and a smoking fire pit, still warm from earlier.

“Hail Bucky?” Steve calls out, dropping the pile near the charred remains of the prior fire. “Dum Dum?” He peaks inside a lean-to, finding it empty. “James? Percival?” He walks the perimeter of the campsite. “Gabriel?” He looks down a path of crushed leaves and disturbed branches, recently traveled with footsteps leading away from camp. “Jim?”

When all fail to respond, Steve cautiously makes his way down the makeshift trail, picking his way through the underbrush as he traces his retinue’s steps deeper into the thick of the wood.

When Steve had been a boy, back when his mother still drew breath, she had warned him of wandering too far off the beaten path. _There be creatures in the wood, wolves and giants and fae,_ she had said. _You wouldn’t want any of ‘em to catch you unawares else you be gobbled up or worse._ The ‘or worse’ usually involved the fae, mercurial spirits who become easily angered over nonsensical slights and would exact their revenge on all who offended them.

Steve is ill at ease. There is something wrong here; he can feel it deep in his bones, though he is uncertain of the source. The woods are darker in the underbrush, the canopy becoming thick enough to blot out the sun.

And that’s when he notices.

His surroundings are preternatural silent. There are no birds, no chittering of crickets, nor the footfalls of rabbits and other woodland creatures save the crunch of his very own.

All is silent, almost deathly until…

“aaaaAAAAaaaaaaaahhh!”

Steve sets off in the direction of the screams, breaking the tree line into a clearing so bright he reflexively brings up his arms and recoils at the light, but when his eyes adjust, he is horrified to see Bucky, his teeth grit, eyes closed, his neck warping and lengthening as his nose and mouth shrink and elongate into a snout that blackens into the dark beak of a swan. Five other swans surround him, clumsy in their forms, some tipped over onto the ground, their webbed feet kicking air, while others flap their wings inartfully, nearly toppling over in their haste. Maces and swords, a bow and even a small axe are strewn upon the ground, confirming the identities of these other fowl as his missing retinue.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts, but he stops short, his arms reeling as his boots barely toe the circle of dark green grass bordered by white mushrooms.

 _It be not wise to walk within circles of mushrooms,_ his mother’s voice whispers. _Spellbound, they be._

“Oh look, another one there be,” says a voice emanating from a bouncing blue light flitting from one end of the circle to the other.

“A smarter one,” a second bright orb adds, “Though he too brings instruments of our undoing on his person.”

Steve fumbles at his belt, tossing the iron mace at his side as well as his steel sword and iron buckle for good measure behind him into the wood.

_Be polite, Stevie._

“My apologies, great ones. I sincerely regret my actions and those of my compatriots here; it was grave folly and our own ignorance what brought us here.”

“Your friends were not so kind,” the first orb observes.

Steve bows his head. “I beg your pardon on their behalf as well as mine. The fault is entirely our own,” he says, allowing genuine sorrow to filter through his voice. “If you could be so kind as to allow us leave, we will exit your presence with our deepest apologies.”

“You are free to leave as are your friends.”

“…In their original forms?” Steve hesitates to ask.

The second orb scoffs. “I like these better. They are much more sensible this way.”

Steve ponders his next move. “If I may intrude on your kindness once again… is there a way I could perhaps earn their return to their original human forms as they were before we so rudely stumbled into your path?” he tries again.

“I cannot see how.”

Steve knows he is pressing his luck, but “Nothing at all?”

“Hmmm… how about a wager if you prove so eager?” The first orb nearly vibrates in excitement at the thought.

_An opening._

“You are most kind to allow me the opportunity. May I ask your terms?” Steve inquires carefully.

“We will restore your friends to their original human forms if you sow six shirts of nettles for them to wear…”

“And remain silent for the term of six years after said agreement,” the second faerie finishes, bounding ahead of the first. “If you fail in either task, you will share in their fate.”

“Though again, we ask you to consider their current forms an improvement,” the first interjects. “You only need speak a word, and you may join your friends.”

Steve is about to respond but stops himself. The fae didn’t specify when the vow should start, and he’d rather not risk any assumptions. He motions to his mouth, his throat, but keeps mum.

“My, you really are the clever one,” the first sounds almost impressed. “The vow of silence begins upon your agreement to our terms.”

Steve considers it. He knew not how to sew, but he did have experience with stinging nettles during a few unfortunate encounters in childhood. “Will the shirts not wilt before they can be finished?”

The second orb darts close to his face, veering off at the last minute as a needle made of sharpened ivory falls at his feet. “With this needle, you will be able to keep the nettles fresh and ever-stinging, allowing you to finish this task,” the voice clarifies cheerfully.

_Great. That is… that’s just fantastic._

“They will return to their original human forms as if none of this ever happened?” Steve presses.

“You have our word,” the duo proclaim in unison. “Do we have a deal?”

The swan who had been Bucky honks and waddles over, his gait ungainly as he flaps his wings as if telling Steve to leave, to save himself.

Bucky should know him better than that.

And so Steve mulls it over. Six years of silence to make six shirts of nettles.

“You still have the choice to walk away, human.”

He recalls Bucky back on the estate, back when Steve had been undersized, underfed, and too mouthy for his own good. Bucky had pulled more than one bully off him, had snuck him sweets when his tutor, who had been trying to instill a sense of class cohesion, hadn’t been looking. It was Bucky who funded his purchases of armor and a horse, who had vouched for him, given him the opportunity to prove himself when he came of age and rise up to his current station.

And their men – Gabriel, Dum Dum, James, Percival, and Jim – had they not had his back in the thick of battle when he became stuck in the press of bodies and blood-soaked mud, when he had swung wildly to avoid the mace and wooden bludgeons of the enemy? Had it not been they who covered for him, helped pull him from the muck and viscera?

Could he walk away now? After everything they had shared?

Having come to his decision, Steve nods.

“I appreciate your offer and agree to the terms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ‘regard’ was a bonus paid to the leader of the retinue, in this case Bucky, that was split amongst himself and the men to pay for their armor, horses, and other equipment.


End file.
